What's Your Favorite Color?
by Tex-chan
Summary: At the end of a long, hard day, D has to face the final challenge to his dignity. Fanfic challenge response for D and Pink.


_Author's Note: This is a bit of odd randomness I wrote in response to a fanfic challenge. The challenge: "D" and "pink". I wasn't going to post this silliness, but I'm doing so as a gift for Kitt, because she has had a tough week. (So, if you hate this … well, talk to her!) I hope this will provide a fun read. If nothing else, it's mercifully short. _

_Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it._

**What's Your Favorite Color?**

"Look, Mister, it's the only one I have left. Take it or leave it," the shopkeeper announced.

He was careful to keep his tone flat, final, and matter-of-fact, indicating, in no uncertain terms, there would be no negotiation on this deal. This was it. He had the final say, and he wanted to be sure this customer, who stood almost a head taller than he did and had a rather foreboding air about him, knew that. He jutted his chin out a bit -- a gesture reminiscent of a stubborn child -- and stuffed his hands into the pockets of the dust-streaked apron he wore.

D sighed and glanced out of the general store's open door, marking the sun's passage. It was just after noon, and, already, it had been a bad day. He had been rudely awakened just before sunrise by some sort of scavenging beast, which had wandered into his camp. Things like that weren't so unusual out here on the frontier, and the beast hadn't been much of a challenge. D had put the creature down within a second or two, but, in the process, he had managed to step in his fire, singeing the bottom of his boots and the hem of his cape. Everyone has a clumsy moment now and again, and D figured he shouldn't let it bother him so much. Still, it was embarrassing, especially with Left Hand around to remind him of the mishap, which the parasite had done -- relentlessly -- for most of the morning.

He had been so busy ignoring Left Hand's taunts that he had burned the coffee. That was bad enough, but D had been forced to drink the now-bitter brew. He couldn't give Left Hand the satisfaction of knowing he had messed up twice in the span of less than an hour, or he'd never hear the end of it. Left Hand had a long memory, and the thought of having to live through the next hundred years hearing, _"Remember when you burned your cape and ruined the coffee? Now, that was funny!"_ made him cringe.

A beast slaying before breakfast, a burned cape, and no decent coffee would have been enough, by themselves, to ruin D's day. But, it hadn't ended there.

He had broken camp and saddled up shortly after finishing off the whole pot of awful coffee, resolved to do his best to salvage what was left of the day. His most recent hunt would take him into the mountains today, which, at the very least, would mean relief from the hot summer temperatures that had plagued him while he had been traveling through the plains. D had tried to concentrate on that one positive thing. If nothing else, he had thought it would help him salve the bad mood chewing its way through his gut. And, it had worked -- for a while. It had even allowed him to ignore Left Hand's cape jokes until the wrinkled little parasite had finally gotten bored and gone quiet.

Unfortunately, the peace hadn't lasted. After riding for a few miles, D had smelled the unmistakable scent of burning leather. Not a happy smell, particularly if you are the only being within a hundred miles who is dressed in this material. He had looked down to see the remnants of the scavenger beast's blood eating through his boots. It had spattered all over them during the fight, and, although D hadn't realized it at the time, the creature's bodily fluids must have been comprised of some sort of slow-acting acid -- weak enough that it wasn't immediately dangerous, but strong enough so that it could do serious harm if left alone. He had dismounted and cleaned the rest of the blood off in time to avoid any skin damage, but the boots were a total loss.

As he had returned to the saddle, ignoring Left Hand's boot-based taunts, D had wondered what else could go wrong today. It seemed like he had rolled out of his bedroll and stepped right into a stinky pile of very bad karma.

The thing is … when you're having a bad day, the last thing you should do is wonder what else can go wrong. Because, if you do, inevitably, fate will answer your question, often with prejudice and lots of bruising. D remembered that now. Too bad he hadn't earlier, when he could have stopped this whole stupid mess at nothing more than a rude awakening, a burned cape, crappy coffee, and ruined boots. He was half human, though, and it is very human to wonder just such a thing. Looking back on it now, D figured his human nature had gotten the best of him this time.

He had turned toward the mountains, looking forward to a day spent riding through the peaceful, cool shade of the forests that clung to the rocky slopes. It would be nice to be out of the sun, out of the hot, and, finally, a little closer to his prey and the end of his most recent hunt.

The first half hour spent climbing through the lowlands had been just as D had expected. Calm, peaceful, shady, and cool. In short, a relief. As the ground had become steeper, D felt his horse strain beneath him, the huge muscles bunching and releasing as the animal had ascended the slopes with easy, almost effortless bounds. He had paused on an overhang -- a small, rocky shelf jutting out over a ravine where a river cut through the mountain range -- to let the horse rest before attempting to move higher. He had heard the river rushing below him, pounding through the gorge with the special, throaty-sounding roar that only fast-moving water can make. He had felt the wind on his face, lifting his hair, cooling him. And, it had been good. Very good. It had felt like, just maybe, things were looking up.

That was when he had felt the first tremble. It was slight, almost unnoticeable, but D had felt it shudder through his horse's hooves and legs, all the same. He had heard the groaning growl of shifting earth, and he had known, instantly, what it all meant. Landslide.

D's reaction had been instinctive, his reflexes, as always, cat-quick. With the slightest touch of the reins, he had pulled the horse left, away from the ravine that spelled certain death and toward another, more stable, outcropping of rock, which jutted from the mountain within easy reach. He hadn't had this horse for very long, and the beast hadn't had time to become attuned to D's commands. The horse had panicked, and, instead of following D's lead, it had veered to the right.

D and his horse had parted ways at that point, with D landing on the nearby rock outcropping and the horse continuing over the edge, swept into the ravine by the sudden landslide. D had gotten to his feet just in time to watch the creature plunge, screaming, to its death a hundred feet below.

The loss of the horse was … unfortunate. D couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the animal. It had been gentle and eager to please, and it hadn't deserved to die like that. Horses were expensive, too. This was his third one in as many weeks, and replacing the creatures was starting to eat into his expense budget. If it kept on like this, he would barely break even on this job.

Still, accidents happened, and D figured he couldn't beat himself up too badly over losing the horse. It wasn't like he had had any control over it, after all. And, he had walked away from the incident unscathed.

His saddle, though. Now, that was another story altogether. Losing the saddle hurt. Horses were easy to replace, but a saddle that had the perfect butt-groove worn into it … Well, that was something you didn't take lightly. Not when you spent as much time traveling as D did.

He had stood on the edge of that overhang for several long minutes, debating over whether or not he should climb down after his saddle. In the end, he had decided against it. He was certain the horse had fallen into the river, which meant his saddle was probably ten miles away by now. Besides, with the way his day was going so far, D had figured he would be asking for more trouble than even he could handle if he went after it. Instead, he had walked out of the forest, back to the plains, and to the town he had passed earlier that morning. It was a long way, and it was hot. By the time he had reached his destination, D was tired and sweaty. His feet hurt, and he was beginning to question the wisdom of wearing black leather during the summer.

So, that brought him here. To this store, where he stood now, faced with a stubborn shopkeeper and the final insult in what had shaped up to be one very bad day. D sighed again, and looked away from the open door, back to the store owner, who was watching him with an expression of mild agitation on his face.

"You don't have anything else? Maybe in the back? Because, if you're holding out on me just to get rid of it …I won't be happy," D replied.

His voice was soft, almost gentle. The calm expression on his face never changed, but he regarded the store owner with a long, hard glare. He was satisfied when the smaller man swallowed, hard, and backed away a step or two, the agitated, stubborn expression melting from his face to be replaced by the tractable demeanor of a merchant who just wants to make sure his customer is happy. Especially when said customer is a dhampir sporting a very foul mood and a seven-foot long sword.

The store owner shook his head. "No. I mean, yeah … I want to get rid of it. But, it's really the only one I have left. You can go look for yourself, if you want."

"No," D replied.

He didn't have to look. He knew the other man was telling the truth. He could feel it in the beating of the store owner's heart, and besides, D was the kind of person other people didn't dare lie to.

"Fine," D said, tossing some money on the counter. "I'll take it." He placed a new pair of boots next to the coins. "These, too. And, the horse," he continued, nodding toward the open door and the creature tethered there.

D pulled on the new boots, tossing his ruined pair onto the counter so that the shopkeeper could dispose of them. He ignored the man's parting, "Thanks, and come again!" and walked out the door without another word.

He paused for a moment in front of the horse. It whinnied and snorted at him, tossing its head as if it recognized its long-lost owner, even though they had only just met. It stretched its neck forward, seeking to nuzzle at D's cape. Normally, he would have spoken to the animal or patted it, but, right now, he couldn't spare the time for that. The street was deserted, and he had to act quickly. He had to get this over with and leave before anyone saw him.

He tossed the saddle onto the horse's back, grimacing at the way its hot pink leather contrasted with the beast's glossy, black coat. He hurried to tighten the girth and adjust the stirrups, all the while telling himself it wasn't so bad. He was certain he could drape his cape so that it hid the pink leather from view, and, at the next town, he would ditch this monstrosity and get a decent saddle. A normal one in a normal color, like black or brown.

As he cinched up the girth, Left Hand peered at the saddle. He scrunched up his beady, little eyes and sniffed at the hot pink leather. He stuck out his tongue and took a tentative lick.

D held his breath as he mounted the horse and draped his cape over the creature's back to hide the saddle from view. He knew it was coming. There was no way Left Hand could let something like this slide by without commenting on it, and D cringed at the thought that he would now have to spend the next hundred years hearing about this stupid, pink saddle. In comparison, the burned coffee thing didn't seem so bad.

As D turned the horse around and headed it toward the edge of town at a slow, measured walk, Left Hand snickered.

"Shut up," D said.

Left Hand ignored him. "You know," the parasite commented, "You're always saying the black leather is so hot … maybe this is a sign. I think you'd look really nice in pink. Almost … sweet, even."

D sighed. Some days, it didn't pay to roll out of bed.


End file.
